


Summer Solstice

by Silvergray1358



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King, Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blatant Stealing of Stephen King's Weird Sex Scenes for Author's Own Use, Come Swallowing, Demons, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Potentially/Possibly Underage Character, Pre-movie AU, Speaking-rings, just a warning, sex pollen trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvergray1358/pseuds/Silvergray1358
Summary: The ancient pagans that had claimed this land long before them had believed this day to be sacred and spiritual. Today, more so than any other, the sun prevailed; expelling the evil spirits in its mirthful rays and prompting luck and prosperity to flourish.Where the crusader had come from, these superstitions were relics of peoples long gone but the monks that kept the lands now still held their beliefs with careful regard.Fantasy/magical AU inspired by Stephen King's The Dark Tower that takes place before the events of the film.





	Summer Solstice

     It was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, and there was something heady in the warm, floral breeze that playfully swept along the shore and dunes. The scent of sea holly and thyme was potent, even over the tangy salt-water and it was times like these that the Mute wondered how on earth he had washed up somewhere so beautiful and untouched. The air carried something akin to ancient magic with it as it danced through the Mute’s hair and thin shirt while he gathered seaweed on the beach in the late afternoon. 

     Even the mundane and common task of foraging felt somehow more peaceful and soothing with the lazy sunlight and enchanting breeze this particular day. The rhythmic crash of waves on the rocks and sand was lulling and the Mute paused on the shore to close his eyes and breathe deep.

     The ancient pagans that had claimed this land long before them had believed this day to be sacred and spiritual. Today, more so than any other, the sun prevailed; expelling the evil spirits in its mirthful rays and prompting luck and prosperity to flourish.

     Where the crusader had come from, these superstitions were relics of peoples long gone but the monks that kept the lands now still held their beliefs with careful regard.

     The Mute, feeling a moment of lazy calm with the beautiful day, placed the yoke he carried down. Why not take a short break to stretch out his muscles before pushing on with his simple chore?

     He cast his sight back from the coast to search for his foraging partner.

     Diarmuid stood up past the dunes, meandering the open field above the shoreline as he scanned the ground for useful herbs and mushrooms. The youngest of the monks moved easy. He had no need to hurry when the sun still had hours before it set, even this late past its peak in the sky.

     The Mute let himself waste a few moments simply watching the Novice from afar. The crusader had washed up upon this very shore five summers ago and during that time the small brunet had grown in many ways. Yes, taller and ever stronger from long chores but even more noticeably he had grown increasingly thirsty for knowledge and answers for his growing curiosity. 

     It was easy to admirer the man that the Novice was blossoming to be.

     Every day after morning prayers, lessons, and preparations, the Novice would be given small tasks to assist the Mute in whatever orders he had been given.

     Brother Ciarán always insisted that the young monk could benefit from learning, even by watching the laborious chores the Mute was asked to perform, although the Mute suspected than Brother Ciarán was keeping the young monk nearby for the warrior’s company. 

     The wind picked up for a second, rustling the sea grass on the dunes and the field of grass rippled like waves up towards Diarmuid who had reached the natural boundary of the clearing by a line of towering pines. The breeze tousled his wild mop of bronze curls into his face, but he pushed them out of his eyes distracted. His gaze seemed focused on the ground nearby and he drifted that way as he walked.

     Perhaps he had found a patch of wild coltsfoot growing in the grass. The thought reminded the Mute that he should be foraging as well. It was just too easy for the Novice to steal his attention and the Mute was self-aware enough to know that he should not allow such behavior from himself.

     He picked the yoke and baskets back up from the sand, settling the weight without strain across his neck and shoulders, and spared one last look up the slope despite himself.

     Diarmuid stood with his back to the older man, stock still, until he crumpled to the ground out of sight.

     Panic flooded the Mute's veins and instinctively he dropped the baskets and ran full-speed up the slope. There on the grass a far distance away from him was the distinct, black robes that all monks at the monastery wore. As fast as his legs could carry him he dashed over to the boy on the ground. 

     Before he closed the last few steps he slowed to a stop, taking in the view before him with stunned surprise.

     Large stones, short enough to be hidden in the tall grass until right upon them yet still heavy enough to have needed more than one man’s strength to lift, laid arranged in a perfect circle. 

     Such formation was a sure sign of ancient, pagan practices and spoke of superstitious doings. The very hair on the Mute's neck and arms stood up from a chill nonexistent in the summer air.

     In the dead center was Diarmuid.

     He was writhing on the ground and at first the Mute thought that he might be caught in the throws of a fit. Knowing full well that stepping inside the ring of stones might be a terrible idea, when the young monk choked out a pained cry on the ground, he did not hesitate a second longer.

     He stepped inside the circle and dropped down beside Diarmuid, turning the smaller man over gently so he rested on his back in the Mute's arms.

     He was not convulsing like the older man had worried, but something was still very clearly wrong.

     The muscles in his limbs were strung tight, back arching, and the color had paled from his face except for the hectic, pink splotches high on his cheekbones. His eyes were scrunched closed in a grimace but they snapped open when he felt the older man’s touch.

     The normally warm-brown irises of Diarmuid's expressive eyes were dilated wildly large--black swallowing the light almost completely through his half-lidded eyes.

     Diarmuid had the heel of his palm pressed down tightly on his lower abdomen as he groaned out sharply in the Mute's arms. Panicked, the older man grabbed his wrist to pull his hand away but he was not expecting what he saw and froze.

     Very clearly through the wool of his habit was the hard outline of an erection.

     In his distraction, Diarmuid slipped free from his grip and shoved his hand back forcibly with a hurt whine. It looked like it must hurt with how hard he pressed. Equally frightening, his breathing had picked up and air whistled into his chest with harsh pants.

     The Mute pulled Diarmuid’s hand away again and this time covered the boy’s groin with his own so Diarmuid could not. The second he did though a grunt left Diarmuid’s chest and his whole body spasmed in his arms. The boy’s hips bucked up twice into the older man’s hand and the Mute was too surprised to do anything other than watch.

     A long, wanton moan poured out of Diarmuid, a wet spot soaking under the Mute’s broad hand, and belatedly the Mute realized that he had just  _ orgasmed. _

     The Mute whipped his head up in a futile search around but all was quiet and empty in the field. His eyes landed on the foreboding stones around them once more and something from the years echoed inside his head. 

     He had heard long, long ago ghost tales of heathen beliefs that claimed the pagans had built speaking-rings. These rings could be used to summon all manner of demons, from those to aide in battle to those who could grant potent fertility. The very kind that could leave a woman docile and athirst for the male counterpart so that she might couple with high success despite previous failed attempts. 

     The young brunet in his arms whispered something that he did not catch and he glanced back down at the smaller man.

     “Please,” Diarmuid rasped out softly. “Please... I’m so very hot, I cannot breathe…”

     The very air seemed caught in his chest as he choked. His hands were clutching the collars of his robe and hood, tugging helplessly at the confining material. The flush that had started on his cheeks had flooded to his ears and neck, creeping down under the black fabric.  

     The Mute almost tore the cloth in his haste to pull the article up off of Diarmuid. Between him and the young monk together, Diarmuid was stripped nude in no time. The moment that he was left exposed completely to the air he gasped forcibly, sucking oxygen back in like he had resurfaced after drowning. 

     A man trained by war, the Mute strategized through his possible options.

     They were both trapped within the speaking-ring. The demon would surely not let them simply leave now that they had both willing stepped inside and he feared that if he did not come up with a plan soon the young brunet’s body would not be able to handle the demon’s influence for long. 

     The ancient spirit had soaked the Novice's innocent body with a powerful lust. The Mute had no notion of its intent yet its effect on the young monk's body was evident.

     “ _ Uuuungh _ , again please...please, it hurts…” Diarmuid begged in a desperate, fearful tone, pitch rising. He grabbed the Mute’s hand and fumbled it down back over his crotch. 

     He was still completely hard between his legs and the curved line of his erection was flushed a dark pink which rivaled the blush that had made its way down to his chest.

     Decision made, although with cautious reluctance, he gripped the still hard length of the boy's cock, fisting it in the warmth of his calloused hand. It was still slick from Diarmuid’s first release and the Mute's hand slid with glorious drags that caused Diarmuid to tip his head back and moan sweetly.

     If this is what the demon demanded, then he would carefully help the naive youth through it. 

     He kept his easy, rhythmic pace along Diarmuid’s length, feeling how it throbbed and twitched in his palm every time he decided to twist his wrist on the upstroke. The most sensuous of moans whimpered out of the young monk beautifully and every one set the Mute’s blood aflame ever more in his veins, stealing the very air from his own chest.

     Without thinking, the Mute leaned down and placed his lips to the slope of sun-kissed neck present before him. He kissed right there on the side of the Novice’s throat as he kept his hand working with deliberate strokes. 

     Diarmuid’s head tipped back down, startling the older man to pull away. The Mute’s eyes locked with the young monk’s and his hand paused in the intense moment.

     It was Diarmuid who wrapped his arms around the Mute’s muscular neck and pulled himself up enough to press their lips together. 

     The kiss was inexperienced but that did not dwindle the way time seemed to stop or how it felt as though lightning shot down the length of the crusader’s spine. 

     He urgently returned the kiss, teasing Diarmuid’s lips with his tongue before slipping it inside his eager mouth, showing the smaller man the new technique with slow motions. Eventually he started moving his hand again and when he did Diarmuid twitched in his arms and gasped before sealing his mouth back to the Mute’s. 

     The boy’s kiss was hungry and willing, both taking and letting himself be taken. The Mute happily shared his knowledge with every caress of lips and he tried to pour his adoration into every place he touched the smaller man. 

     Diarmuid suddenly inhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the Mute’s shoulders incredibly tight, as his cock flexed in the older man’s fist. The brunet moaned through their kiss helplessly as his pleasure crested again finally. 

     The Mute pulled away to witness the intense force the first pulses of Diarmuid’s release had as it painted the ivory skin of his chest and ribs before falling weakly over the larger man’s fingers while he milked everything completely out of him. Soon, Diarmuid’s body twitched with every slowing pull of his hand and he groaned lowly from the sensation. 

     The Mute pulled his hand away, reaching back to wipe his hand off mostly on the grass before using the boy’s already ruined habit to clean away the traces of Diarmuid’s release that dotted the young brunet’s chest and stomach. 

     His heart dropped nervously at the sight of Diarmuid still erect despite having orgasmed twice now. 

     The balmy breeze picked up, a rush of sweet air pushing the older man’s hair back from his forehead, and the Mute’s head swam with a dizzy wave for the briefest of moments. His blood felt too warm in his body and he could distinctly feel the way he was hot and stiff as well between his legs but he tossed the observation away with a shake of his head. He had to keep his wits about him still.

     If that was not enough to satiate the spirit, he was willing to give it even more. 

     He placed Diarmuid back down wholly on the soft grass and had to pull himself free of the tight hold the Novice’s fists had on his shirt collar. He did not move far away though, merely readjusted his position. He boldly parted Diarmuid’s legs to kneel between them and the young monk moved willingly with his touch. 

     Diarmuid was indeed a lovely sight in the afternoon sun. The Mute had never seen the young monk’s flesh completely before and he was immediately enchanted by the beautifully smooth, Irish skin that stretched over his lithe frame. Small freckles and moles sprinkled the boy’s skin and the older man let himself succumb to his carnal desire to trace their path downward with his lips and tongue-- down the pectoral muscles of his chest, along his breast bone, following the dip of his rib cage and further. 

     Diarmuid’s hands came up to the crusader’s shoulders as he descended slowly, clutching onto any part of the Mute to ground himself as the larger man doted affection upon every inch of his skin. Pink, watercolor splotches trailed behind on his flesh, left from the Mute’s beard everywhere he stopped to kiss.  

     When the older man sucked a little mark right inside the jut of hip bone where Diarmuid was extremely ticklish, the smaller man wound his fingers tightly into the thick, black locks at the base of the Mute’s skull with a shocked cry. 

     Done indulging himself and taking pity on the Novice, the Mute did not hesitate any further.

     His lips sealed around Diarmuid’s cock, sinking down to take him completely into his mouth where he could taste the bitter, salty taste of his previous orgasms on his tongue. The taste wasn’t truly unpleasant and the gorgeous moan that left the boy at the sensation of being swallowed down more than made up for it. 

     The crusader had never performed this particular act before, but he had been on the receiving side a handful of times in his youth so he focused on what had felt pleasurable for him all those many years ago. 

     Diarmuid shyly loosen his fingers up enough to let the older man move his head once he realized how tight he had been holding on. The Mute reached up briefly to prompt him to keep his hands there before he started bobbing his head, lips wrapped tightly, along the small brunet’s cock. 

     After a few moments of getting used to the technique, the Mute developed a pattern. He would pull back enough to tease the very tip with his tongue using quick little flicks before sucking downward until his nose hit the soft curls of Diarmuid’s groin, swallowing around the head pressing down his throat. 

     With a free hand, the Mute ran his rough hand up the stretch of Diarmuid’s ghostly pale inner thigh. He didn’t stop however and reached to cup the younger man’s testicles. They were already beginning to draw tight and he massaged them while he continued to work his mouth ardently. 

     Apparently Diarmuid was very sensitive there, gasping out moans with surprise and hips trembling in the Mute’s grip as he reached a crucial desperation. 

     “I never… it feels,  _ uuuungh _ , please… please, do not stop, please…” Diarmuid begged as he rambled. Did he not realize that the Mute would happily perform any task asked of him set by the young monk himself? 

     This time when the younger man came, the force of it cut the moan pouring out of him mid-way. The older man could feel how the brunet’s hips twitched under his hands but the rest of the boy’s body was strung tighter than a bowstring--back arched and arms thrown out to the side, fisting the grass beneath him.  

     He kept working his mouth in slowing pulls to see Diarmuid all the way through the last waves of bliss. Despite the strength this last orgasm seemed to have, very little flooded into the Mute’s mouth for him to swallow down. He imagined that it could not have even felt truly pleasurable at this point as the monk was forced over the edge for the third time, so he pulled back carefully the second that he sensed it was over to avoid over-stimulating the poor boy.

     He stayed leaned over Diarmuid’s frame on the grass, watching him closely as the small brunet laid close-eyed and panting. The Mute could not help but stare: he was too concerned with the way the breaths being dragged into Diarmuid’s chest did not seem to go deep enough or how he could see the rapid pulse of his heart right there on the side of his neck along the artery nestled underneath. 

     The Novice whimpered a hurt, frustrated sound and squirmed uncomfortably. He finally opened his eyes to glance down and the Mute’s gaze followed to see Diarmuid’s erection still flushed and stiff on his stomach, mayhaps a bit less needy from its most recent ejaculation but very much present. 

     The Mute’s mind raced.

     Perhaps it was not a traditional demon as he had first expected. If this was a mage site built for female fertility than maybe a succubus dwelled here, incorporeal and hungry through the passing centuries and jumping at the opportunity to seek fulfillment regardless of not being sacrificed its traditionally female host to inhabit. 

     There was no way that he was going to mate with the young monk, no matter how hard his body responded to the gorgeous boy laying prone before him. He had no right and Diarmuid had control of neither his actions nor desires. The Mute feared taking advantage and hurting him above all else.

     Regardless, he still had to give the demon its demands in exchange for Diarmuid's body and soul back.

     Nervous yet determined to be swift with the task at hand, the Mute pulled away and stood. He needed space to rein himself in and calm his own breathing as he began to unfasten his pants at the waist cord. 

     Diarmuid's eyes had stayed trained on him the whole while, chest rising and falling in the draping, afternoon rays of sun that played across his skin through the shapes of cast pine-shadows in the breeze. 

     When he got his trousers undone enough to reveal the stretch of his abs that dipped down towards his groin, the young monk moved with eerie grace to his knees and knelt before the older man ardently.

     The Mute's heart beat with faltering panic at the sight. Heat shot down his spine though, too aroused for sure from the submissive pose presented in front of him. Letting go of his last reservations he reached down and pulled his throbbing cock out.

     His fist moved with well-known motions although he had not allowed himself this pleasure for years now. A part inside of him felt shame at how easily he had caved to this carnal desire but he could not lie to himself that he did not feel more than passive affection for the Novice. 

     He would do anything to protect him.

     Diarmuid lurched forward and the Mute quickly reached to hold onto the side of his neck and hold him back, just barely managing to stop him from taking the older man’s length into his mouth. A restless, sad sound came out of the young monk but he only looked up at the older man and paused patiently.

     When the crusader was sure that Diarmuid would stay put, he let his hand slide up his neck to cup his face. The Mute’s thumb ran from his ear across the young monk’s cheek to his red-kissed lips. He took a moment to trace their shape before he used the pad of his thumb to tug the boy’s chin downward, prompting him to open his mouth. The Mute’s hand on his hard length slowly started moving again and Diarmuid’s eyes fluttered at the sight as he realized what the older man was going to do.

     The Mute's hand moved more aggressively and his own beading arousal at the tip of his member helped the slick slide of his fist. The heat pooled in his thighs and groin with sharp waves of pleasure and he couldn't pull his eyes away from the young brunet who gazed right back up at him.

     Something in Diarmuid's eyes spoke of familiar reverence and seeing that love doled out to him now in this moment had him being pushed over the edge quickly.

     The Mute's release pulsed out, coating the smaller man's tongue in stripes. The second the liquid finally hit his tongue, Diarmuid moaned out with force and without warning, leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the tip of the older man's cock to catch every drop.

     It was too much and the Mute grunted out at the erotic vision of the smaller man as he suckled him through the last waves of his orgasm, his cock throbbing between his ruby lips.

     Diarmuid swallowed everything down and pulled away from his softening length with a dazed, sluggish motion. With shocking clarity his blown pupils contracted, returning his eyes to normal as he blinked terrifically slow.

     The seconds crept by painfully for a series of heartbeats.

     Suddenly, Diarmuid's eyes rolled back in his head and he almost collapsed back to the grass but the Mute just managed to bend down and catch him in his arms. The boy's frame was completely limp in his grasp and so he laid him softly on the ground.

     Diarmuid's chest rose and fell with steady pulls, eyes closed and mouth parted as he laid apparently caught under the waves of deep sleep. 

     As quickly as possible, the Mute fastening his own clothing back in place, grabbed Diarmuid's black robe and cowl up and slung them over his shoulder. It was effortless to scoop the small monk up in his arms, cradling the exhausted brunet as carefully as he could.

     When he got back to the monastery he would place the Novice in the other Brothers' care and show Brother Ciarán back to the ancient circle. 

     Hopefully someone as wise as the Herbalist would know how to dispel the demons still hiding there among the stones so that no other weary traveler would stumble upon the site.

      _~THE END~_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are always welcome <3


End file.
